Dark Mirror
by historylover
Summary: Repost of my last multichapter
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you, guys. I appreciate everything. As you know, reviews are the thing that keeps me writing, since I'm obviously not getting paid for this. This was a very recent one-shot. I like it, but it had a lousy reception. So, I'm trying it again.

I got this idea from a couple places: a rerun of House that I recently saw (yes, another one), and a new horror movie that's out that I haven't seen yet.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Kripke does. And maybe I should repeat the MST3K mantra to myself "This is just a show. I should really just relax."

**Dark Mirror**

Rick looked around the crowded bar. Although it was packed, he felt all alone. His friends insisted that he come out with them. He didn't want to go, but he had been cooped up for weeks now. Or was it months? Maybe his whole life. He didn't know.

They got him out to the bar, and then they deserted him. Each one quickly paired off, either with their girlfriends or with hookups.

It was typical. He was dragging his friends down, so why not desert him? If he could, he'd leave himself as well.

The music was pounding. He wanted to leave. To crawl into his bed and stay there until Jenny called him. But Dan drove. Dan always drove, because he didn't drink.

Although he knew that Jenny was never going to call him.

"Who am I kidding?" he asked himself out loud, although it was drowned out by the hip hop music.

The smoke started bothering him. He downed his beer and went to the bathroom. He locked the stall and sat down. The music was still shaking the walls and the smoke was bad, but it was better in here.

He knew he couldn't stay in the stall.

After a few minutes, he left the bathroom. A pretty woman was sitting at his table. He sighed. He couldn't go there now.

But, she spotted him and gave him a big grin. He had to smile back.

He walked over to her and sat down opposite of her. "I thought you'd never get out of the bathroom!" she yelled over the music.

He grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

She handed him one of her two beers. "Wanna get out of here?"

Rick looked over at his friends. Only Tony and Cate seemed to even notice him. Tony gave him a thumb's up and left with Cate.

Rick wanted to leave, but he really wasn't in the mood to leave with this girl. But, she might be able to take his mind off of Jenny.

"Yeah, let's get out of here."

She grinned at him seductively and stood up from the table. He grabbed his jacket and followed her out the door.

It was a chilly night. Rick could see his breath as he shivered in his jacket as they walked toward his apartment. The girl seemed oblivious to the cold.

But, she no longer smiled. In fact, she seemed focused on something.

Rick was uncomfortable. "What's your name?"

She stared straight ahead. "Mara."

"Well, Mara, to be honest, I'm not comfortable with this." She turned to him, her brown eyes giving him a cold look. He continued, "I just got out of a serious relationship."

"OK." She stepped forward, rubbing his arm.

He frowned and stepped back. "I can't. I shouldn't." He looked away from her. "See, I'm still in love with Jenny. Even if she doesn't love me anymore."

"I don't know what that feels like."

Rick turned back, but Mara was gone.

He looked around. She seemed to vanish into thin air. "Mara?" He called out.

"Hey, buddy," Dan said as he and Scott walked up. "We were looking for you inside. Although, I really hoped you hooked up with that girl Tony and Cate said you left with. They said she was a real looker. So, where is she?"

Rick shrugged. "Gone. She left. What else is new?"

Scott sighed. "We're ready to leave. So, let's go."

Rick took one last look around him before following his roommates to the car. He wondered where Mara disappeared to. She was there one moment and gone the next.

Although, he had the feeling that someone was watching him.

* * *

Rick couldn't sleep. He kept seeing Jenny in bed with _him_. Mark's fancy car, nice clothes, movie star good looks, wealth.

"Mark stole Jenny away from you, didn't he?"

He sat up in bed to see Mara sitting beside him. "How did you get in here? Did Dan or Scott let you in?"

"You let me in. But, don't you want to do something to ease your pain? Pay them back for all this torment? Mark stole Jenny from you, but Jenny let herself be taken. All this unbearable heartache. Don't you want to feel something other than pain again?"

Rick nodded, and Mara grinned. "Let's go."

He got out of bed and followed her to his closet. She reached up and handed him the pistol he got from his grandfather when he turned 17.

"Are you ready to do this?" she asked.

He grabbed the gun from her and checked it. It was loaded. "Yeah. Let's go."

He walked up the porch of Jenny's house, wondering, not for the first time why Mark was staying with Jenny instead of Jenny staying at his big country house. He shook off the thoughts and did something he didn't know how to do—pick the front door's lock.

Inside the house, Mara grinned at him delightedly from the stairs. She followed him up them and to Jenny and Mark's bedroom.

He burst inside the room. Mark and Jenny immediately woke up and screamed when they saw the pistol in Rick's hand.

Rick shot twice before turning to Mara. Mara stood over the bloody bed, grinning at him. From Jenny's dead body, he could see a wisp of clear smoke rising to engulf Mara. Nothing came off Mark. For a brief moment, Mara's eyes shone.

For the first time, Rick could see the evilness in her grin and brown eyes.

"Go ahead and do it." She whispered. "I want to live."

Rick raised the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Sam woke up to find Dean still sitting at the motel's table, looking throughout newspapers and scribbling furiously on a pad. He checked his watch. It read a little before 3 a.m.

"Dude, you need to get some sleep," Sam said sleepily as he sat in bed.

Dean took a swig of coffee and went back to reading. "I'm OK. I think I found a case."

Sam got up and stumbled to the table to take a seat opposite Dean. Dean was pretty jittery. He kept nervously shaking his leg. Sam thought it had to do with all the coffee Dean was drinking to stay awake. "Dean, I know what you're going through."

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do." Although Dean's eyes were locked on him like lasers. Sam played with the edge of a paper. "You don't want to deal with these memories."

"I'm OK."

"No, you're not. You need to get some rest."

"Thank you for your diagnosis. I didn't realize you were a doctor now. Don't worry about me."

"You're still drinking in order to sleep!" Sam objected. "So, please, get some sleep!"

"I can't. The whiskey ran out." He grabbed a paper. "OK, so, Springfield has been having a strange rash of murder-suicides. They've been escalating too."

Sam sighed. "Murder-suicides? Dean, this doesn't sound like type of gig. Not everything is supernatural, you know. In fact, the odds are that these are just murder-suicides. Even though it's too bad. I think you're still running, trying not to think. You're exhausted. Let's take a break. Recuperate. Both of us need rest."

Dean shook his head. "These murder-suicides don't usually take place the same way. The last one was a shooting. The one before that was drugs. Sometimes the methods of death are different."

"See? No pattern. So get some sleep."

"There was one survivor from the last incident. A guy named Mark Reynolds. He was pretty seriously injured, but he was able to give his statement to the police. According to his statement, Richard Adams came in and shot both him and his girlfriend before turning the gun on himself."

"So?" Sam got up and staggered back to bed.

"So, there was a girl in that bedroom that kept flickering in and out. In fact, he claims he felt her there before Dicky boy came in."

Sam sat back up. "It could be him losing consciousness."

"Or it could be a ghost."

"It was supposed to be a ghost last time," Sam muttered.

Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't hurt for us to check it out," he mumbled.

Sam lay back in the bed. He wanted to sleep, to rest, to take a break. If they were going to hunt, they should be going after Lilith, instead of these simple hunts. He also knew that Dean was just running away from his memories. He was seeing a hunt in everything.

"It doesn't hurt for us to check it out. But please get some sleep first."

He felt Dean's laser-like eyes on him again although they were in shadow before Dean turned off the little desk lamp.

"OK, Sammy. I'll try."

TBC

A/N: I do have a direction. I'm a little worried that I'm going to write Dean flat in this one, and he's the one I usually get right. But, I do have a direction. Bear with me. And please review.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: As I said, I have a direction to this. But, I'll only continue if you want me to. And I was made aware by a friend that I have a crapload (my words, not hers) of characters in chapter one. I will try to clear things up, but I'm going to be introducing another character here. That's my goal for this chapter. Plus, I figure that I have a slight advantage—I know where I'm going with this. If you're confused with characters, please let me know.

**Dark Mirror**

Dean and Sam walked to the hospital's information desk and asked where Mark Reynolds' room was. They had their badges ready, but the receptionist didn't look up. She just rattled the room off.

"No one's investigating?" Dean whispered. "Dude almost got murdered, with his story of another woman in his bedroom, and no one's investigating?"

"Probably everyone figured that the responsible party is dead and that this woman is a hallucination from blood loss. She obviously can't be found. After all, the only prints that were found on the weapon belonged to Richard Adams'."

Dean stopped his march to the ICU and looked directly at Sam. "Do you really think there's nothing here? Because I saw another possible job in the papers. A possible succubus. Could be fun. I'll even serve as bait in that one."

"No!" Sam said, a little too forcefully. At Dean's look, he backed off. "I mean, we can look to see if this woman was real. We're here now, we might as well look into it."

Dean started his march back to the victim's room. Sam sighed and caught up to him, although he was still doubtful. Especially after their last hunt. Those kids weren't ghosts. He knew why Dean was doing this, and he didn't blame Dean for wanting to keep hunting and saving people.

Dean turned a corner and motioned towards a room. The door was open, and Sam peeked inside. A man was lying in bed, flipping through TV channels. He looked bored.

The guy glanced over in their direction, stiffening, looking like he wanted to get up and run, but couldn't, until he got a better look at Sam and Dean, who were entering his room.

"Mark Reynolds?" Dean asked.

"Yeah?"

Dean took out his badge. "I'm Detective Stratton, this is Detective Hoover. We're investigating your shooting."

Mark grinned. "Someone is taking my story seriously. I'm sorry for being suspicious when you were looking in. I didn't see you, just your shadows, and I thought you were the hospital's psychiatrist coming in to see me. I don't want to see her."

"You told the local cops that you saw a woman in your bedroom with the gunman?" Sam asked, taking a seat on the window ledge.

"Yeah. In fact, I thought I heard her even before I heard Rick come in. But, I went back to sleep." Mark sighed and winced in pain. "The last time I spoke to cops, they weren't taking me seriously about the girl. They couldn't find a trace of her, and since Rick killed himself after shooting us, I thought it was case closed. They thought I was in and out of consciousness, so I was hallucinating. What made them change their minds to believe me?"

"You said you saw her flickering in and out? Was there any electrical disturbances?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, she was flickering in and out, but there didn't seem to be any disturbances. Why? Is that important?"

"It might be."

Mark sighed again. "Jenny's dead. I knew Rick was a stalker. I just didn't think he'd get dangerous. He just struck me as wrong. There was a lot off with that woman as well. Particularly when she stood over Jenny's body. She sucked something out of her. She seemed frustrated that she couldn't get anything out of me. She sucked something out of Rick after he shot himself. But, I had to be hallucinating that."

"What did she suck out of Jenny and Rick?" Sam asked.

"Something that looked smoky."

"Black smoke?" Dean asked.

"No. White. It was shiny." Mark shook his head. "I had to be hallucinating."

"Did you get a good look at this woman?" Dean asked. "What did she look like?"

Just then, a nice looking blond woman in a doctor's coat came into the room, and Mark stiffened again and turned to face the wall. "Hi, Mark," the woman said. "I just wanted to stop by and see how you're doing. I talked to your surgeon. He said that you're healing nicely, and you ought to begin physical therapy soon."

Mark continued to stare at the wall.

The woman smiled sadly, then stepped forward, offering her hand to Sam and Dean, who shook it. "I'm the resident psychiatrist. Rachel Liebowitz. It's nice that Mark has visitors. He refuses to talk to me." She turned back to Mark, who continued staring at the wall. "All right. If you want to talk about what happened to you, at any time, just let one of the nurses know. They know how to get a hold of me. I'm on call. Or give me a call yourself. I always have my cell phone on whenever I'm not here or with another patient."

She smiled at Sam and Dean and walked out of the room.

Mark turned back to Dean. "You wanted to know what this woman looked like?" He nodded to the door. "Like her. Almost exactly like Dr. Liebowitz. So much like her that it's scary."

Dean got up and followed the woman down the hall. He could hear Sam following him. At the nurse's station, she turned them and smiled awkwardly at them and played with her Star of David necklace.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

Dean glanced at Sam to see him taking out his badge, and he did the same. "We just have a few questions to ask you," Sam said as he flashed her his badge.

She read his badge. "Of course, Detective Hoover. I'm a little surprised, though. I thought Mark's case was considered closed."

"Christo," Dean muttered through his hand, watching her intently to see if her blue eyes would change color.

She frowned, puzzled. "Excuse me, Detective Stratton?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I know that Mark isn't really feeling like talking to you. But, do you know anything of his shooting?"

"Just what the cops and his surgeon have told me. I'd like to get Mark's thoughts and feelings, though. He won't talk to me."

"Any idea why?" Sam asked.

"Apparently, I look like the woman in his bedroom." She sighed. "Listen, I've been through all of this with your colleagues. I'll tell you what I told them: on the night of his shooting, I was asleep in my bed. I had a 60 hour week, and I was exhausted. Plus, I was on call. And the admitting doctor woke me up to tell me he got a shooting victim in."

"Psychiatrists have to be on call?" Dean asked.

"Surprisingly, yeah. My subspecialty's in emergency medicine. The doctors call me whenever they're short-handed in the ER or whenever there's a trauma victim or suicide attempt. I also counsel family members of victims. Suggest clinical psychiatrists. That sort of thing."

"Why would Mark think you look like the woman in his bedroom?"

"Here's my theory: since I was in his recovery room when he woke up after his surgery, he's confusing me with the woman who was in his room."

"Do you believe she existed?" Sam asked.

Rachel hesitated. "The cops can't find any trace of her, but if Mark saw her, then I think she existed. I don't think it was a case of him losing consciousness." She looked at her watch. "Do you have any other questions? I need to go on rounds."

"No," Sam said.

"Sorry to cut you off, but I really have to go. I'm already late." With that, she walked away.

Sam felt her brush against him as she walked past him.

"Dr. Liebowitz?"" Dean called after her. When she turned around, he asked, "Why are you trying to treat Mark Reynolds?"

She sighed and walked back up. "I'm trying to keep him from experiencing survivor's guilt. It's pretty common to live through something like that. Also, he's showing very classic signs of depression, which is also common. Once he gets out of here, I'm recommending a good clinical psychiatrist to him. If he'll talk to me."

With that, she walked away.

"Now what?" Sam asked.

"The shooter went out with friends and roommates that night, right? I'd say we talk to them." Dean walked towards the exit.

* * *

The three boys looked to be twelve in Dean's opinion. Too young to be going out drinking at bars. Too young to be here, meeting them at a bar. He wondered just when he got old. He had to remind himself that two of these three boys were Adams' roommates. The third was a friend.

The kids looked over the badges he and Sam showed them, although Dean knew they didn't know what they were looking at. In fact, they seemed awed to be in the presence of "detectives."

Dean bit back a groan. These guys were almost ready to graduate from college, and they didn't recognize the aliases. He wondered what college teaches everyone. Sam barely knew where Dean had gotten the aliases from.

"We're sorry about your friend," Sam said, interrupting Dean's thoughts.

Dan, one of the boys (Dean had to look at Sam's notes to figure out which kid was which), quietly said, "Thanks. We knew he was depressed, but we didn't know just how depressed he was."

"We hoped getting him out of the apartment would help Rick. But it obviously hurt him," Scott said, returning with beers.

"So, what happened?" Sam asked.

"I thought he was doing good, when he picked up that looker. But, she left him shortly before we got outside to meet him. That couldn't have helped him," Tony said. "I think that led to him killing Jenny and himself. It's tragic. Those two did make a good couple."

"Did any of you actually see the woman he picked up?" Dean asked.

"I didn't get a good look at her, but I saw her," Tony said.

"What did she look like? Were there any electrical disturbances?"

Tony frowned. "No electrical disturbances. She was blond, classy-looking. Too sophisticated to be here, you know?" He gestured at the bar. "Actually, I think that's her picking up that guy."

Dean and Sam turned to look. A woman who looked a lot like Rachel Liebowitz was flirting with a geeky-looking man. She seductively rubbed his arm.

"So much for being on call tonight," Dean muttered.

Sam stood up, followed by Dean, and intercepted the woman and the geeky man at the door. Dean grabbed the beer the woman was drinking and splashed holy water into it.

The man was grinning from ear to ear. The woman looked at Sam, annoyed and disgusted. Her brown eyes lit up when she saw Dean.

"Do you guys have a problem?" the man asked in a very nasal voice.

"Nope. No problem," Dean said. He handed the woman the beer. "We thought maybe you wanted to finish your drink."

She kept her eyes fixed on him as she downed her drink.

As both Sam and he stepped back from the door, she bumped into Sam as she walked past him.

Once they were at the door, Sam turned to Dean, "Do you think she's possessed?"

Dean gestured with the empty beer mug. "She didn't react to the holy water."

"Her eyes were a different color. Other than that, she was identical to Rachel."

"Something's off about her, though," Dean said. "I don't think that was Rachel. It's someone else."

"A shapeshifter?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "I'd like to know what's up with the guys she picks. I think we've got all the information we need about the shooting. I want to know more about Dr. Liebowitz and her doppelganger."

TBC

A/N: OK, now, after this chapter, my "cast" becomes a lot less bloated. Forget most of the characters. They aren't important.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Also, how much do you know your movie trivia? Which movie did I pick the aliases from? It's also the movie that I picked Rachel's last name from. It's one of my favorite movies (which tells you a little something about my sense of humor. Although, I don't tend to like this movie's knockoffs and copycats), and it seems like such a Dean movie. I really need to rewatch this movie this weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I want to say now that I have nothing but respect for the Jewish religion. I mention this because here on out I'm playing with Jewish folklore. I mean absolutely no disrespect. I'm a Christian, but I believe that my religion and the Jewish religion go hand in hand. So, if you're Jewish, please don't take any mistakes and dramatic licenses with your folklore as any disrespect. Please put it down to not doing my research. The last thing I want to do is disrespect anyone's religion.

**Dark Mirror**

Dean turned off the Impala's lights and parked across the street from the apartment complex. He checked his watch. It was 1:15 in the morning. Both he and Sam watched the woman and the nerdy guy walk up the stairs to his apartment.

"I wonder what she sees in him," Dean muttered. "Sam, is there anything that can change someone's eye color to another normal eye color?"

"Besides contacts?"

"Yes, besides contacts."

"Not right off the top of my head. If she were a shapeshifter, her eyes would flash silver and then the normal blue. If she were possessed, they would be black. Unless brown is her normal color and the blue is the mark of the monster."

Dean turned back to study the apartment. He wanted to get inside to see what was going on. "I think she has blue eyes. But, I really don't think that was Rachel going up to that apartment. I think it's something else."

"What makes you think that?"

Dean opened the car door. "Just a hunch." He grabbed his revolver, checked to make sure it was loaded with silver bullets, screwed on a silencer, and tucked it into his jeans.

Sam followed him. "What's your plan right now?"

"I'll think of something. I can't just sit here, wondering what to do."

They climbed the stairs to the apartment. Sam gestured to the apartment he thought the couple went into. Dean nodded and pounded on the door.

"Candygram!" Dean called.

There was no response from inside the apartment. Dean pulled out his gun and tried the door knob. He could turn it.

"You think if we go in, we'll see if the guy really is as dorky as he looks?" Dean asked.

At Sam's bitch face, Dean shrugged and opened the door.

He trained his gun onto the woman standing over geek-boy's body. The guy had a steak knife in his bloody hand. The woman had her hand out, pulling something that looked like thin, white, wispy smoke was coming from the dead man's mouth. It hung in mid-air as the woman turned to Sam and Dean.

At this distance the woman looked less like Rachel. Her brown eyes flashed angrily. Her skin was ashy, almost dead-looking.

"I need him in order to live!" She growled. Her voice was lower and more sinister than Rachel's.

Dean and Sam started shooting at the woman, who started lurching to them. The bullets went through her, embedding themselves in the wall behind her.

"I like you," she hissed at Dean. "Your soul shines." She started flickering out. "Don't wake up!" she yelled out.

Suddenly, she was gone.

Sam knelt down beside the man and checked his pulse. He shook his head at Dean.

"Let's get out of here," Dean said, while putting his gun away and taking out his cell phone. He dialed 911. "Yes, I'd like to report a dead body at 1623 Meadowlark Lane, apartment 15. My name? Yeah, my name is…" he hung up. "Did you touch anything?" he asked.

"No."

"I didn't either. OK, let's get out of here. We need to figure out what that was."

* * *

Dean pulled up at the hospital. He needed to get out of the motel room. Sam was still researching anything he could think of.

She wasn't a shapeshifter. She wasn't a demon. Dean was stumped.

He didn't think this woman was Rachel, but he was damn sure they were connected.

He checked his watch. It was almost 6 in the morning. He rubbed his eyes. He was so tired, but he couldn't stop. Not even for a minute.

Stopping meant nightmares. Stopping meant feeling like he was drowning in guilt.

He perked up when he saw Rachel walk out of the hospital. She looked as tired as he felt.

He got out of the Impala and walked up to her. She sighed tiredly. "Detective Stratton. So wonderful to see you again. Why are you here?"

"I wanted to ask you some questions about what you did last night. I thought I saw you at Puzzles last night. Were you there?"

"That's such a stupid name for a bar, don't you think? Anyway, I was here all night. Mostly asleep in the very uncomfortable on call room. I never sleep well in any room except my own bedroom. Too many weird dreams. Oh, and just before 1:30, I was paged. Mark Reynolds tried to kill himself. He's stabilized, but he's going to try it again. Survivor's guilt. He's under suicide watch now, and I'm mad that I didn't order it before. He needs to talk to someone, but he won't talk to me. Oh, and while we were stabilizing Mark, we got another suicide in. This guy succeeded. Stabbed himself. So, I spent the rest of the night comforting his family. I'm tired. I'm off for two days, and I'll probably spend the entire two days sleeping. So, do you have any idea why your question is a little insulting?"

She got in her car, and Dean closed her door. She started her car and rolled down her window. "Look, I'm sorry," she continued. "I know you're just doing your job. I'm just tired. I really haven't slept well for about three days. You can pull me into your precinct tomorrow, and I'll gladly answer any questions you have. But, now, my brain is fried. I'm tired. I'm frustrated. I'm pissed off at and I feel helpless with all these murders and suicides!"

"I just have one more quick question: do you have a twin?"

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I'm an only child."

"Be careful going home, OK? If you get too tired, just pull over, alright?"

She smiled at him. "Thanks. I can tell you want to get to the bottom of this. I do too. I can also tell you're a good man, Detective."

"Dean."

Her smile widened. "Dean. Nice to meet you."

He stepped away from her car and she pulled away.

* * *

Dean walked back into the motel room. "I don't know the connection between Rachel and this girl, but I do know that she's not our bad. She was at the hospital all night. I saw security tapes. She couldn't have left the hospital."

Sam turned his computer to Dean. "I started thinking about astral projection. You know, out of body experiences."

"What about them?"

"Maybe when Rachel's asleep, her dreams are so vivid that she's able to influence minds who have met her. Project a suggestion on depressed, vulnerable minds. Maybe we didn't really see her, but we saw a projection of her."

"Was the last victim depressed?"

Sam pulled the computer back. "He was on anti-depressants. He'd been on them for a couple years now. Since his divorce and his lay-off. And, these targets make sense, considering Rachel is a psychiatrist."

"The targets might make sense, and her flickering out happened when Rachel was paged when Mark Reynolds attempted suicide. But it doesn't explain the change in eye color. So, Rachel's mental image of herself is with brown eyes, not blue? And what was the deal about needing the victim in order to live? I've also never seen any astral projection try to force someone's soul out of their body. Wouldn't you agree that's what she was doing?"

"Probably."

Dean rubbed his tired eyes and stood up. "It might be a dybbuk."

Sam leaned back. "It could be. However, we need to know the exact connection between the dybbuk, which would be our mystery woman, and Rachel. And I haven't found any connection. It would help if we knew our mystery woman's name. It could be a chimera."

"That's a demon that preys on twins, right? Rachel is an only child. And we established it wasn't a demon."

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Maybe you should get some sleep. I'll keep looking into this. But, you need to be alert and have my back when this goes down."

Dean sighed. "Maybe you're right."

* * *

Sam tried another webpage and watched the words blur together. So far, the only things he could find on Dr. Rachel Liebowitz were a couple of speeding tickets and some Bs in her undergraduate classes and med school classes. Both of her parents were still alive and married. Her maternal grandfather was a rabbi. By all indications, she was a good woman.

The only thing that Sam could find in her past that was noteworthy was that her best friend committed suicide when she was sixteen. She admitted in her psychiatric evaluations that this was probably the reason she wanted to be a psychiatrist.

Sam glanced over at Dean who was sleeping fitfully. He mumbled something Sam couldn't catch when his cell phone rang.

Sam quickly answered the phone when he saw the caller. "Ruby?" he whispered.

"_Sam, you and Dean need to get out of there."_

Sam stood up. "Why?"

"_The angels have decided that you and Dean are both liabilities. They are going to kill you and send Dean back to Hell."_

"What? Why?" He left the room to talk to her better.

"_They're going to kill me too. I'm running. I suggest you two do the same."_

"Why? They pulled Dean out of Hell. Why throw him back in?"

"_Apparently, they really don't like you and want you to suffer some more. I think they're sending Castiel after you. I know Uriel's after me. I saw him. You're going to have to kill Castiel. Or whoever comes after Dean and you."_

"How? Do my powers work on angels?"

"_Drown him in holy water. I know that sounds idiotic, but the vessel will die, and the overload of holy water will destroy angels."_

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"_I couldn't. I figured it out myself after a lower angel tried to take me out. I won't be able to do it again. You should see how burnt my hands are!" _Her voice lowered. _"Sam, I got to go. I think I hear wings outside. I need to get out of here. If I survive this, I'll call you back. If you don't hear from me by the end of the week, I didn't survive." _With that, she hung up.

Sam ran back into the room. Dean was actually sleeping peacefully in the bed, but he heard water running in the bathroom. He drew his gun and looked inside to see Rachel standing in front of the tub.

He aimed his gun at her, but she didn't flinch. "What are you doing, Rachel? Where's Dean?"

"That's not my name," she hissed out. "I don't like that name. I don't like her. In fact, I hate her. She's alive. I'm not."

Sam glanced into the room behind him. It was still empty other than Dean sleeping. "What is your name?"

"Mara."

"Mara, what are you doing here? I need to get out of here."

"Demons? Really, Sam?" she asked. "I don't like you. I want Dean."

"Are you an angel?"

She laughed. Her laugh sounded evil. Sam didn't think there was any possible way she could be an angel. She gave him even more of the creeps than Uriel and Castiel did.

"All this unbearable heartache. Don't you want to feel something other than pain again?" Mara asked as she dropped a rosary into the water.

As she started her evil laugh again, Sam heard noises in the other room. He slowly backed out to see Castiel standing over Dean's empty bed.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Castiel asked.

Sam hesitated. Castiel's voice sounded amazingly like Dean's. He aimed the gun at the angel. "You're not going to send Dean back."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know that you're going to send Dean back to Hell. I'm not going to let you do that."

Castiel sighed. "You're sleep walking, Sam," he said in Dean's voice. "Go to bed. Get some rest."

Sam heard Mara laughing from the bathroom. He could hear the water overflowing out of the tub. He looked at Castiel to see him smirk. He had enough.

"Sammy?"

"Don't call me 'Sammy'!" Sam yelled out, spinning his revolver so he was holding by the barrel.

Castiel's peaceful eyes suddenly changed into Dean's troubled, haunted, pained eyes. _I'm not falling for that trick_, Sam thought.

He pistol-whipped Castiel, who fell to the floor. Sam dragged the half-conscious man into the bathroom and threw him into the cold water.

Mara laughed harder as she turned off the tap.

When he hit the water, Castiel regained full consciousness. He tried to get out of the water, but Sam forced him back under, squeezing his neck. Castiel kicked and struggled. He tried to first push Sam away, then tried to pry Sam's hands off of his throat.

Sam squeezed his neck harder.

Mara stepped up and stretched out her hand. "You've almost got him, Sam."

"I'll deal with you next," Sam gasped out.

"I'm not scared." She closed his eyes. "I can feel his life leaving him. Can you see his soul, Sam?" She started flickering out and opened her eyes. "I don't want you to wake up!" she screamed.

The man went limp. His hands slipped useless under the water.

Sam looked down. Castiel was no longer under the water. Dean was there.

"No!" Mara screamed and disappeared.

"Dean!" Sam cried out as he dragged Dean out of the water and laid him on the wet floor. Sam could see the cut on his head he got when Sam pistol-whipped Dean and the bruises on his neck where he strangled Dean.

Dean looked dead.

"Oh, no!" Sam cried out. _I killed my brother! _He checked Dean's pulse and was relieved to find it. But, Dean wasn't breathing.

Sam tilted Dean's head back. He knew breathing for Dean probably wasn't going to work, seeing that Dean's lungs were filled with water. He pressed his hands against Dean's diaphragm, hoping he could force the water out.

Suddenly, Dean started gagging and coughing out water. It was one of the best things Sam ever heard.

Dean rolled over and started to crawl to the wall. Sam reached out to help him. Dean weakly slapped his hands away.

"Don't," he said hoarsely between coughs. He sat up against the wall with his eyes closed, still coughing. It sounded like he was going to cough up a lung.

"I'm sorry," Sam stammered out.

Dean finally opened his eyes. He had broke a blood vessel in his eye from his struggling and lack of oxygen, and blood had filled half of the eye.

"I know you want me to sleep, but I don't think drowning me is the way to do it," Dean said between coughs.

TBC

A/N: Oh, and the answer to my question about the aliases is "Animal House." And, yes, I rewatched it this weekend. Toga! Toga! Toga! "Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?" "Germans?" "Forget it, he's rolling." As someone who has my Master's Degree in History with a specialty in World War II, this is my favorite exchange!

Oh, and Ruby never called. Castiel was never there.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks, everyone! :D

Summary for chapter 3: Sam had an encounter with Mara, who made him think that he should take out Castiel. He tried to drown Dean.

**Dark Mirror**

"You wanted to kill Castiel?" Dean hoarsely asked as he checked out his bruises in the mirror. He was still coughing, but at least he wasn't feeling like he wasn't going to cough up one of his lungs. He rubbed his sore sides and winced as he rubbed his bruised neck. He breathed a sigh of relief that he could even breathe. It looked like Sam was trying to crush his windpipe. His eye looked worse than it felt. Give it a week, there will be no blood in it.

"I know it was a dream. It felt incredibly real, though. I didn't even realize I was asleep." Sam shifted uncomfortably.

Dean ran his hand through his still-damp hair, making it spike more. "I don't know what I'm the most disturbed by: the fact that you are willing to kill an angel with your bare hands, the fact that you're listening to Ruby again, or the fact that you tried to kill me, even though I just accidentally got in your way."

"I thought the angels were trying to send you back to Hell!" He also flashed his phone at Dean. "Also, Ruby didn't call me. No one called me. It was a dream. A very intense, vivid dream. It was like I had to protect you at all costs. Even if it meant killing an angel to do it."

"Angels aren't after me. They pulled me out. Uriel can threaten all he wants, but I think I'm still pretty important to the Big Guy up there."

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered.

Dean sighed. He had a suspicion that this monster didn't influence people to go against their own thoughts. He couldn't prove it, and he didn't like that implication. It meant that Sam secretly wanted to kill him, no matter how much he disguised it. He shook his head, trying to get past these troubling thoughts. "So, what did this Mara tell you?" At Sam's brooding look, Dean prompted, "C'mon, Sam. What did this Mara tell you?"

Sam picked up his notepad that he had been scribbling on while Dean recovered. "Well, as I said, her name was Mara. She was the one who turned on the faucet. She was pretty upset when I called her 'Rachel.' She said that she hates Rachel because Rachel is alive and Mara isn't."

"It sounds to me more and more of a dybbuk, doesn't it you?"

"There has to be some sort of connection, right? There's a reason that a dybbuk took Rachel's form, and we don't know what that connection is. I think Rachel is lying to us. She's controlling this thing."

Dean lay down on his bed. "Maybe. But, if she is controlling it, she's doing it while she's asleep. Or having a restless sleep."

"How do you know that?"

"Nothing I can prove right now. What was Rachel's best friend's name? The one who committed suicide?"

Sam looked at his notes. "Maria."

"How'd she do it?"

"According to Rachel's psychiatric evaluations, her friend OD'ed. Are you thinking that the dybbuk is Maria?"

Dean sighed. "Why would she change her name? Although Maria is pretty close in spelling to Mara. Any reason for 'Mara' that you can think of?"

"Well, Rachel's Jewish, right? In Hebrew, the name 'Mara' means 'bitter'."

"College boy strikes again."

"She sounded pretty bitter at the fact that Rachel was alive and she wasn't."

Dean sat up. "In Germanic folklore, Mara is a wraith that causes nightmares."

Sam checked the word on the laptop. "How'd you know that?"

Dean ignored the question. "Any idea what Maria looked like? Did she resemble Rachel in any way?"

"Give me a minute." Sam got up and went over to the laptop. After a few minutes, he said, "Got a picture of both Rachel and Maria. They don't look very much like each other."

Dean got up to look. "Maria looks pretty Hispanic, doesn't she? So, we're back to square one." His chuckle turned into a cough.

Sam winced. After Dean's coughing fit, Sam said, "Get some rest. I'll do some more research."

"And have you drown me again?"

"I won't. If I fall asleep and see Mara, I'll know it's a dream."

"Yeah, right." Dean grabbed a book. "Trust me, I'm awake now."

* * *

Dean tossed down the book and rubbed his eyes, wincing as he bumped the cut on his head.

Sam looked up. "Are you alright?"

"I just need to rest my eyes. Want to stop for a little bit? Get something to eat?"

"How's your eye?"

"It looks worse than it feels." Dean gestured to the books. "Unless we get a hold of the Kabbalah, there's not much knowledge about dybbuks. Hey, maybe we could contact Madonna about it!"

"You know that Madonna's Kabbalah isn't the real thing, right? It takes rabbis interested in the Kabbalah most of their lives to study the spiritual side of it."

"Well, that sucks." Dean grabbed another book. "Maybe it would be better if we just assumed this is a ghost. Salt and burn the bones."

"If we knew who the spirit even is."

"Well, we know who it's attached to. If we had the right sort of exorcism, we could extract the dybbuk from Rachel. After all, she's not the one who's doing these killings."

Sam checked another webpage. "Yeah. It's the dybbuk."

"No, it's not." At Sam's look, Dean continued. "She doesn't pull the trigger, so to speak. She gets other people to do her dirty work. I don't think she makes people do anything they haven't previously thought of before. She gets the reward by taking dead person's souls, but she doesn't actually kill anybody."

Sam played with a pencil. "You think I actually have thought about killing you?"

"If you hadn't thought about it, I'd worry about you."

"Have you ever thought about killing me?"

"No." Dean said a little too quickly. "Well, I take that back. You were a pretty annoying kid."

Sam chuckled softly. "Was not."

"Oh, yeah. Always whining that you were missing a test. Who whines about missing a test? Until you decided our family wasn't normal enough, you were such a brat about following me around."

"Maybe I was trying to stop you from getting into trouble. That's why I kept following you around."

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, maybe."

* * *

Sam stood waiting for the pizza he had ordered for him and Dean. Meat lovers. Dean's favorite.

It was the least he could do. Dean didn't seem like he blamed Sam for what happened earlier today, but Sam couldn't forget it.

After all, he almost killed Dean with his bare hands. He made a promise to himself that he would never do that again.

It was dark. Researching for almost twelve hours had just revealed everything they knew before. Dean was ready to explode. The jokes and cheesy humor was replaced by sullenness.

Sam was worried that Dean was retreating back into his memories. And now, he had another bad memory. This time of Sam trying to drown him.

Dean didn't want to get out with the bruises really standing out on him. So Sam volunteered to get the pizza.

If these kids would stop listening to the police radio and hurry up on it. Although, he knew glaring at the oven wouldn't make the oven cook it faster. He didn't want to leave Dean alone too long.

Sam couldn't hear much from the police radio. It was on so low.

"That code that just was called?" the girl behind the cash register asked her co-worker. "Did you hear it?"

"I did," the guy said. "What's up with all the suicides going on?"

"Must be something in the water," she said.

Sam stepped forward. "Another suicide?"

The girl turned up the radio. "Attempted suicide anyway. Sounds like the guy is still alive. Taking him to the hospital." She nodded to the guy at the oven. "Jeff is going to be a cop, so he's learned most of the codes."

"If I get accepted into the academy." Jeff said as he took the pizza from the oven.

Sam felt his stomach do flip flops. "Did they say where this happened?"

"Yeah. Very close by. The motel down the road."

"Dean," he whispered and ran out the door. "The bitch came back!"

"Don't you want your pizza?" The girl called after him.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: And we continue. I sure do appreciate the reviews I get! 

**Dark Mirror**

Dean was restless. Sam left to get pizza, leaving him alone. With his thoughts.

Which weren't good.

He opened a book about dybbuks, only to find that it was written in Hebrew. He could recognize Hebrew on sight, and that was it. He wondered when Sam learned how to read Hebrew.

He wondered how many other things he didn't know about Sam.

He tossed the book back on the pile and rubbed his eye. It was uncomfortable, but it didn't exactly hurt. He wandered to the bathroom mirror to look at it.

It didn't hurt, but it sure looked disgusting.

His eyes focused on this bathroom reflected behind him. Mara stared back at him, her brown eyes watching his every move like she was a hawk and he was an injured rat.

Dean frowned. "I fell asleep?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

She smiled, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I'm always here."

He sighed. "I hate riddles. You've tried to kill me once today. I'm tired. Can we pick this up tomorrow or something?"

Mara shrugged. "I guess I can go after Sam instead. He really doesn't interest me, though. I want you."

"What do you want?" Dean moved past her into the room itself only to find himself back in the bathroom, with Mara grinning evilly up at him. He turned around. The bathroom was behind him, with Mara grinning evilly up at him.

"OK, now I'm playing tricks with your mind. It's actually a good one, Dean. Sam doesn't know a lot about you, does he? All those hidden depths. I could get lost in them or I could really find myself in them. I love that!"

"What do you want?" Dean asked again.

"What I want is really pretty simple. I want to live. Is that too much to ask for?"

"You're driving people to kill themselves or to kill others. Why do you deserve to live when they can't?" Dean couldn't believe that he was arguing with a dybbuk. He wished he had brought a weapon in with him.

"Because I never have been able to live." She withdrew Dean's hunting knife and slammed it into the door frame that connected the two bathrooms and jerked forward. "Looking for that? It was under your pillow. However, since you never sleep anymore, it really doesn't help to keep it there, does it?"

Dean eyed the knife, wondering if he could reach it, things would go back to normal. Sam would be getting back in a few minutes.

_She's probably wanting me to kill Sam!_

"No," she said. "I don't want you to kill Sam. As I said, I don't want Sam. His soul is warped. Yours shines through." She moved around Dean and sat on the edge of the tub. "I can feel every emotion you're going through."

"No, you don't. This is a dream."

Mara sighed. "You know, you're gonna have to kill him, don't you? Sam, I mean. He's been hunting demons with Ruby again. He's only doing this because he thinks he can save you. We both know that he's wrong. The angels will take him out first. And you think you can save him? Are you really that stupid? Or are you just blind?"

"Shut up."

She stepped forward, and he instinctually stepped backwards, bumping against the counter. "You know, you and I have a lot in common. Really. You are a murderer. A torturer. I understand you."

"You don't know _anything_ about me!"

"You tortured people, Dean. You felt good about it. They screamed and cried and begged, and you _enjoyed _yourself. But, we're both survivors, aren't we? Well, you are. All I want to do is to live! You did what you needed to do in order to live."

_I should have been stronger, _Dean thought.

"Why?" Mara asked. "You need to face it: if Sam was in Hell, you would have tortured him too. Oh, I just thought of something. Well, actually, you thought of something. Can you guarantee you didn't torture your Mom?"

"Stop it," Dean whispered. "Mom wasn't there."

"You know that for sure?"

Dean couldn't answer.

She stepped forward again. "You don't know that for sure. You can't know that for sure. All those faces blended together, didn't they? I know that you wish that you can't feel anything, due to the overwhelming guilt from your memories of Hell and the pressure from the angels and Sam. All this overwhelming pain. I can help you not to feel any more pain."

Dean could feel his walls fall. "Stop it," he whispered again.

She reached Dean and put her hands behind his neck. She pulled his head forward and kissed him.

Dean tensed as he felt sharp pains at his wrists. As he grabbed her and pulled her away, he noticed that his wrists were bleeding.

She grinned evilly, stepped back and grabbed the bloody knife from the door frame. Dean raised his hands and stared at his two slashed wrists, both spraying blood.

"Suicide," she hissed as she tossed the knife on the floor in front of him. "So tragic. Too bad Sammy didn't notice any of the warning signs, right?"

Dean wrapped up his wrists in towels. Within a minute, the towels were soaked with his blood. He started feeling dizzy.

He looked over at Mara. "I can feel your beautiful soul," she gleefully said. "Your death will make me live! I won't need any other person!"

She said more, but he couldn't hear her. The room started to start fading to white, but he noticed he could see the actual motel room behind the door.

He stepped forward, trying to get out of the bathroom. His legs couldn't hold him anymore.

The room finally went white and then black.

* * *

Sam hated waiting. It was against his nature. He tried to count the number of times he had been sitting in a hospital's waiting room, both hoping and dreading word from the doctors.

He couldn't count that high.

There was so much blood in that bathroom. The doctors' initial reactions was Dean tried to kill himself by slicing the radial arteries in his wrists. It was a miracle he survived long enough to get to the hospital.

Sam supposed he could thank their neighbors. They said they heard him fall in the bathroom. The man called the paramedics while the woman preformed CPR. For once, Sam was glad that the walls in these ratty motel rooms were thin. Although, if they could hear Dean fall in the bathroom, he wondered what other things they could hear.

He looked out to the nurses station to see Rachel come around, wearing casual clothes. She was rubbing her temples. The nurse smiled and handed her a pill bottle without saying anything.

Rachel walked away.

Sam sighed, wondering if he should see what Rachel was up to or wait for news about Dean. He debated it in his head for a couple minutes before standing up.

"Hi, Detective," Rachel's voice came from the doorway. Sam looked over to see her standing in the doorway, wearing her doctor's coat. Her blue eyes looked pained and tired.

Sam eyed her as he sat down and she walked forward to the seat opposite him. "Dean told me you were off today."

"Sorry about your partner. The doctors working on him are really good. The surgeon is amazing at repairing arteries. I promise you, he's in good hands." She sat down. "And, yes, I was off today. But I needed a prescription. Since I was here, I just thought I'd keep you company. You don't need to talk to me, if you don't want to."

"So, I take it that you're now here on official capacity?"

She sighed and worked her coat off. "Some people feel more comfortable talking to a shrink in an official capacity. You, apparently, aren't one of those people. Your partner… were there any warning signs?"

"No."

"His doctors told me there was bruising around his neck. He couldn't have attempted anything earlier without you knowing about it, right?"

"Right. What prescription did you need?" Sam asked. "I mean, you're asking me personal questions, don't you think I should know a little more about you?"

She sat back. "Fine. I have migraines. Sometimes they get so bad that they feel like my brain is being torn apart. But, I promise that they don't affect my job."

"How long have you had migraines?"

She hesitated, as if counting. "Since high school. Since I was around 15. Although these headaches are getting worse, there's nothing physically wrong with me. And I subject myself to regular psychiatric evaluations to make sure that I'm OK. If this is what you're worried about."

Sam took a deep breath, filing that information. Dean will want to know that.

She rubbed her head tiredly. "Look, I like your partner. He's a good guy, and I want to see him get better."

"How's Dean?" he asked, feeling like a kid.

"The doctors haven't told you anything?"

"All I know is what his injuries are. The concussion from hitting the counter, the broken ribs from the CPR, of course, the cut wrists. And that they took him to surgery."

"It might take a while to get word. It's delicate surgery. But, the surgeon who's working on him, Dr. McHale, is really good."

"What'll happen if Dean lives through surgery?"

She frowned. "Do you always go to the negative like that, Detective? Dean will be fine."

"What will happen after surgery?"

"Well, we'll keep him in ICU until he's able to move to the psych ward. We'll keep him under suicide watch, and he'll meet with me in conjunction with his doctors until we feel it's safe for him to leave."

"You'll be his psychiatrist?"

"Yes. I'm the psychiatrist on staff here."

"I don't want you treating him."

Her frown deepened. "Is it because of my migraines? I assure you that they have never affected any treatment of any patient. Plus, his family needs to make that decision. Or his power of attorney. Unless I see paperwork, you're just his partner, Detective."

As she stood up and walked out the door, he called after her. "Dean's my brother! I have some say in this!"

She turned. "Two different last names? I know your partner becomes like your family, but..."

"He's my step-brother."

"I don't think so. Police departments don't allow family members to actually be partners with each other. Most don't even allow brothers to serve in the same precinct. But, I'll find out if the nurses can get a doctor to tell you something about your partner."

She walked out of the room, leaving Sam alone.

TBC

A/N: Should mention now--if you keep with this story, it's 9 chapters. So, it's half finished.


	6. Chapter 6

**Dark Mirror**

The doctors told Sam that Dean would probably be out for most of the day. After seeing that Dean was alive and sleeping, Sam decided to get some rest. Maybe grab a bite to eat. However, when he got back to the motel room, he couldn't sleep. Although the bathroom had been cleaned, he kept imagining Dean's blood sprayed all over it.

Sleeping in the car was usually alright. However, he couldn't get comfortable there either.

He grabbed the exorcism book and a dictionary and headed back to the hospital.

He sat in Dean's ICU room, alternating between watching Dean sleep off the anesthesia and painkillers and translating the dybbuk exorcisms to English, just to see what they all have in common. They needed to get the right exorcism. Only one would kill the dybbuk; the others would kill the host and force the spirit to fully emerge—soulless, with an even bigger drive to collect people's life forces.

"Hey," Dean groggily said, interrupting Sam's translation of a particular exorcism involving cousins.

"You're finally awake!" Sam marked the page he was at and changed chairs to sit closer to the bed. "How are you feeling? Can you feel your hands?"

Dean rubbed his face with one of his wrapped-up hands. "Feel weird."

"Your hands feel weird?" At Dean's slight nod, Sam continued, "The surgeon said that you should get full use of your hands soon. You're very lucky. You lost a lot of blood. You almost died!"

Dean winced and rubbed his side. "My ribs hurt."

"Two were broken by our good Samaritan neighbors who performed CPR on you. You must be coming off the painkillers as well, if you feel them." Sam cleared his throat. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Just how depressed are you?"

Although Dean's eyes were still groggy and had a drugged look in them, Sam swore they were shooting lasers at him. "I didn't do this to myself," he said slowly and clearly. "That bitch did this."

"You said that the dybbuk doesn't put thoughts that weren't already in your head."

"If I tried to kill myself, then you tried to kill me earlier."

"I thought I was taking out Castiel! Also, she attacked you once before. Why didn't she come after me?"

Dean rubbed his tired eyes again. "I'm very likeable. Women like me. Listen, let's drop it. I'm tired of arguing. How long do I have to stay here?"

Sam sighed. "Well, a while. Sometime within the next day or two, when the doctors say you're safe to move, you'll be moved to the Psych Ward. Unless you decide to check yourself out first."

"Terrific. I didn't try to kill myself! Wait, Rachel runs that ward, doesn't she?"

"She's the staff psychiatrist, but I told her that I don't want her talking to you."

"Why did you do that? I want to talk to her!"

"Dean, calm down. She's not going to listen to me. You'll be able to talk to her. I don't see why you would want to talk to her."

"Why isn't she listening to you?"

Sam sighed. "It's family members that can make those kinds of decisions for the patient. And I can't make those kinds of decisions because our cover didn't include certain facts. Like our names and the fact that we're actually brothers."

Dean leaned back against his pillow and played with his oxygen tube. "How are we doing on the case?"

Sam walked back over to the books. "Well, I'm working on translating every dybbuk exorcism I can find. As you probably know, if we get the wrong exorcism…"

"Yeah. We say the wrong thing, and we let the dybbuk out of the body to run even wilder. So, we're back to figuring out the connection. I'll talk to Rachel, find out what I can."

"I'll keep working translating the exorcisms. I'll also see what I can find out. I'll do research and some hunting information."

"We've got a plan."

Sam sighed again. "Watch out for Mara. Especially since she tends to pop out when Rachel's on call. Also, Rachel has been having migraines. Bad ones. She said she feels like her brain is being torn apart."

"Really?" Dean frowned. "Like something or someone in her brain wanting to rip her apart?"

"Maybe."

Dean closed his eyes. "Mara's been a real bitch."

"Yeah."

* * *

Dean idly flipped through the channels. He wondered if boredom could drive you crazy. Sam was back at the motel, translating.

He was almost glad Sam wasn't around. He was tired of Sam's concerned stare, because underneath the concern, Dean could see a judging and a "He's insane!" look in Sam's eyes.

Not that he blamed Sam for thinking that. Even though he didn't do this to himself, he had definitely thought of before, no matter how briefly and fleeting those thoughts were. And now he had wrapped-up wrists, tingly fingers, a dull headache that won't go away, and hurting ribs to show for it.

He landed on a stupid soap opera. This crap was still awful. He hated hospitals. They were a waste of space, as far as he was concerned. But he knew why he had to stay.

"Hi, Dean." Rachel's voice interrupted his swirling thoughts. He watched her sit down in the chair. "I'm just here to talk to you."

"Sure you are."

"OK, it's unusual for me not to have to introduce myself to a patient, but it gives both of us a level of familiarity, right?" She sat back in her chair.

"I guess." He turned off the TV and tossed the remote away. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You. How you're doing. Your family, friends, ambitions. You're incredibly young to make detective."

"Well, thank you."

"Tell me about yourself, Dean. How was your childhood?"

Dean played with the gauze wrapping on his wrists. "It was OK. Fun. Schools, toys, friends, dogs. Those type of things. How was your childhood?"

She nodded. "I ask you a question, and you ask one about me. That's fair. My childhood was also fun. Idyllic. I grew up around here. Where'd you grow up?"

"All over. Dad was in the Marines." Dean remembered his dad's advice that in order to make an effective lie, base it on the truth. It's easier to remember.

"Wow. Did you live overseas?"

"No. Just all over the U.S."

She wrote something down on a pad. "What about your family?"

"What about them?"

"Do you have brothers? Sisters? What do your parents do? Any cousins you're close to?"

Dean chuckled. "One brother. Sam. My parents have died."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are you close to Sam? Have you talked to him since you got here?"

"Well, yeah, actually. He's my partner."

She frowned. "Your… So, he was telling the truth. I just dismissed him. Because I was sure that brothers couldn't be partners."

"That's why we use two last names. He uses our mother's maiden name." Dean shifted. "What about your family?"

"As I said, I'm an only child, but I'm close to my parents. They live in town. I have an ex-husband who I get along better with now that we're divorced. And three-year-old twin boys. They mostly stay with Travis. That's my ex. When and how did your parents pass?"

"Mom died of cancer ten years ago, Dad died in a car wreck three years ago." _Keep the lies comin' fast and furious. _Dean rubbed his wrist again. "You have twins?"

Rachel smiled. "They sort of run in my family. You like kids?"

"Yeah."

"I'll bring in a picture of my boys tomorrow. Maybe when they come visit me this weekend, I'll bring them in to meet you. If a patient likes kids, I tend to bring them in. Do you want to have a family and kids someday?"

Dean hesitated. He remembered Ben and Lisa. So much had changed since then that he barely even remembered their faces. "I don't know."

"Well, that's an honest answer." She uncrossed her legs. "Dean, is there any truth to that? Besides the fact that Sam is your brother, your Dad was a Marine, and your parents are dead? And that you don't know if you want kids?" At Dean's frown, she continued, "You're unconsciously playing with your wraps every time you tell a lie. Don't worry. I'm trained to notice things like that. You're not the first patient to resent my questions, and I doubt whether you'll be the last. In fact, I'd be shocked if you answered my questions completely honestly today. I'm not here to judge you, and you need to stop condemning yourself for things in your past. I want to help you, but I can't do it unless you're honest with me."

"Are you being honest with me?"

"Yes. I'll talk to you tomorrow. At least, I'll be here, whether or not you want to talk. We can talk about anything you want to. I'm looking forward to meeting _you_, Dean. No matter what you believe about yourself, you're a good person. I can see it in your eyes. They don't lie."

With that, she left the room.

Dean grabbed his phone from the table and hit Sam's speed dial.

"_Dean, how are you doing?"_ Sam asked. _"Did you get anything on Rachel?"_

"She has twin boys."

"_She's a mother? That's wild."_

"Not only that, she said twins run in her family."

"_OK? What are you thinking?"_

"I'll play around with it from my end, but she's a human lie detector. I'm not completely sure what I'm thinking. If she weren't an only child, we'd have a dead twin angle to pursue."

"_But she is an only child. Listen, I'll look into any dead relatives who are her age. Maybe see if any of the dead relatives were a twin and their connection to Rachel."_

"OK. That's a start."

* * *

Sam hung up his phone and picked up his notes about Rachel and her family. He couldn't believe that his research hadn't turned up twin sons.

He tapped his pen on the paper, thinking. _Start with cousins, _he thought. _If twins run in the family, maybe a cousin who was a twin died._

As he tapped his pen, he found Rachel's senior class portraits on-line. There were a couple of other Liebowitzs that he could look into.

He glanced down at his paper. The ink from the pen hitting the paper formed a pattern of dots. He frowned. It was almost like he unconsciously had written something.

He traced the dots. _You're barking up the wrong tree, Sammy._

Sam looked behind him. He could feel eyes staring at him.

He looked back at the paper. More dots in his regular tapping consistency appeared. He traced them.

_Dean is dead. Rachel is dead._

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks everyone. I'm sorry I've been a real b***h about reviews, but I get disappointed when I'm heading into chapter 7 with less than 30 reviews. It makes me think no one cares. That I'm not very good. So, for those of you who do regularly review, THANKS!!!! I really appreciate it! And thus I continue.

**Dark Mirror**

She walked down the hall of the hospital, skillfully avoiding people who couldn't see her. She could just see the forces coming off of everyone.

Her eyesight was getting better. She could now see in colors. It was a big, beautiful world. This was a very recent development, and it pleased her. It made her want to speed things up.

Now, if she could feel the world, she'd be happy. She just needed to get a little stronger before she could take over completely.

She could taste those souls, and her stomach growled.

She stepped back to avoid the nurse coming out of the room. Although she knew that the nurse couldn't see her, she really didn't want a person who didn't have that bull's eye she looked for to run into her. It made her feel sick.

She stepped inside the room as the door closed behind the nurse and saw him sleeping. His soul lit everything up. Although there were several deep scars in it, that soul in that man was luminous.

It was beautiful. And he didn't even appreciate its beauty.

She quietly picked up his chart and glanced through it. He was on a combination of antidepressants and sedatives. _This will work_.

It was time for her to go and get something to eat. But she knew nothing would abate her hunger until she had his soul.

She reached out and gently ran her hand through his hair. He shifted in his sleep, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

"Good night, Dean," she whispered. "I'll see you soon."

* * *

Sam reviewed his pages of notes that he took when he did research in the library. Rachel was going to be 31 on August 20. Her father was an attorney in the city. Her mother was a teacher at the local high school. Her ex-husband, who lived in the city, was a computer programmer. Her two boys, Caleb and Josh, were in pre-school.

The biggest loss in Rachel's life seemed to be Maria. However, when she was twelve, her cousin, Erin, was killed in a car wreck.

_We're missing something_.

Sam twirled his pen around on his hand as he thought of his very incomplete list of suspects. It still could be Maria. It could be Erin. But neither one explained why they would look like Rachel. Or why they would change their name.

_You're barking up the wrong tree_. He thought of those words again. _It's not someone we suspect._

He jotted down, "Mara Liebowitz?"

Suddenly, he heard ambulance sirens heading down the street. He flipped on the room's police scanner to hear the police code. Sam recognized the code as a dead body found.

He grabbed the keys and left to find out what was going on. Although, he was pretty sure he knew.

* * *

Sam pulled up a half black away from the flashing ambulance and watched the happenings. Paramedics rolled out a body bag from the house.

_Mara must have taken one more person's life force._

Suddenly, the passenger door swung open. As he turned in shock, Mara stepped into the car. "Leave me alone," she demanded. "I don't want you, but I'll defend myself if I have to."

"Did you do this, Mara?"

"Maybe. There's not much you can do for him if I did."

"Where's Dean?"

"You're worried about him? Sweet, but I don't believe that from you. Isn't he holding you back? I'm just doing you a favor, Sammy. You're wasting time here. Isn't there a bigger monster to go after than me? Like Lilith? You and Ruby could go after her. All you need to do is leave Dean behind."

"_Where's Dean?"_

Mara sat back and watched the lights flash. "Relax. He's still at the hospital. But, shouldn't you be asking me _how_ Dean is? I mean, if you really care about him, and you know that he's in my sights…"

"If you did anything to him…"

"You get worked up too easily. You think yelling at me is going to convince me how much you care? It doesn't. But, when I left his room, he was sleeping peacefully."

Sam grabbed his phone and hit the number to call Dean. He counted the number of rings.

"Tell him I said hi," Mara said.

"_Sam?" _Dean's voice sounded sleepy. _"What's wrong?"_

Sam let go a breath, but he didn't know if it was a relieved breath or not. "There's been another suicide."

"_Mara?"_

"Yeah."

"_Damn. Who was he?"_

Sam glared at Mara, who grinned back at him. "I'll let you know." He hung up his phone.

"So, how's he doing?" Mara asked.

"Why are you targeting him?"

"I told you. Dean has a beautiful soul. I want it. And since I never get what I want, it's time for me to finally get something. By the way, you're not sure if you're glad that your brother's still alive? Says a lot about your relationship with Dean, doesn't it?"

Sam sighed. "I don't need to explain my feelings to you."

She shrugged. Both silently watched the ambulance slowly pull away.

"How's Rachel?" Sam suddenly asked.

"She's fine right now. Sleeping a migraine off. Soon she won't have to worry about migraines. Of course that's because I'll completely take over, but, still…"

"What's your connection to her?"

Mara turned and looked at him. "Besides the fact that she's alive and I'm not? She and I are two little princesses. You're lucky. You had someone care about you enough to want to die for you. I never had that. I'm jealous. You need to appreciate Dean more than you do."

"Why aren't you coming after me? You've tried to kill Dean twice, and you know I'm going to stop you."

She grinned again. "Yeah, and it's cute the way you're trying to stop me. I don't want you. When I look at you, it's like I'm looking in a mirror. The only difference is that you're alive and I'm dead."

Sam felt a shiver go down his spine. "You don't have a soul."

"No. Even if I completely take over Rachel's body, I still won't have one."

"Are you saying that I don't have a soul either?"

She laughed and opened the door. "I didn't say that. But, I will say you're losing that soul. Isn't that a reason that Dean went to Hell?" She stepped out of the car. "Good night, Sammy. Have pleasant dreams."

With that, she was gone.

* * *

"Two little princesses? That's what Mara said?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

"What's that mean? Any exorcisms on that?"

"No."

"What else did you and Mara talk about? Did she hurt you? You didn't try to do anything stupid, did you?"

"Like attempting suicide? No, I'm fine. The only other thing she said was she was in your room last night."

"What?"

Sam sighed. "She was just taunting me."

Dean eyed Sam suspiciously. Sam wasn't telling him something. "That's all she said?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, I'll ask Rachel if the phase 'Two little princesses' means anything to her."

Sam stood up. "OK. I'm gonna keep doing research. I'll let you know as soon as I have something."

"See ya," Dean quietly said as Sam left the room.

* * *

"Hi, Dean!" Rachel's bright voice made Dean put down the notepad. He looked up to see her pull a chair closer to his.

"Hi, Rachel."

"I promised you I'd bring you a picture of my boys," she handed him a picture. It showed Rachel and a man, sitting in the park, holding two identical boys on their laps. It was a beautiful, happy family. Dean felt a quick flash of pain.

"Wow. They look a lot like you. Is this your ex?"

"Yeah, that's Travis. He's holding Caleb, and I'm holding Josh."

"You said twins run in your family?"

"On my father's side. Every generation except mine has twins. At least, as far back as we can trace."

"You don't have any twin cousins?"

"No."

Dean looked down at the picture again as he started to hand it back when something caught his eye. He looked back and forth between the two boys. Both boys had big eyes. He could see their eye colors, unless it was light hitting their eyes strangely.

"Do they have different colors of eyes?"

Rachel took the picture back. "Yeah. Josh has brown eyes like his father, and Caleb has blue eyes like me."

"Do the twins in your family have different colored eyes?"

She stopped to think. "Yeah, I think so. But, enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"I'm not ready to talk about me," Dean muttered.

Rachel sat back in her chair. "OK. What do you want to talk about?"

"Does the name 'Mara' mean anything to you?"

She laughed. "Oh, wow. I haven't heard that name in a long time. This brings back some memories."

"Really?"

"Why do you want to know this?" Rachel asked.

"Sam ran across the name 'Mara Liebowitz,' and we wanted to know if she was related to you." Dean watched Rachel carefully.

Rachel frowned thoughtfully. "He found that woman around here?"

"Not the woman. Just the name. And, yes, around here."

"I don't actually know any Mara Liebowitz. However, when I was really young, like before I entered school, young, I had an imaginary friend who I named Mara. I haven't thought about her for maybe 20 years now!"

"An imaginary friend? What kind of imaginary friend?"

Rachel sighed. "A typical imaginary friend that I think every child has. But, it's weird, now that I think about it. Mom and Dad never liked it when I mentioned Mara. They had no problems when I pretended my dolls or my stuffed animals were real. But they had a problem with Mara. Mom would just get sad."

"What happened to Mara?" Dean asked.

She shrugged. "Nothing. I grew up. Went to school, got real friends. Mara went the way of my Barbies."

"Does the phrase 'Two little princesses' mean anything to you?"

"How are you finding this?" Rachel suddenly asked. "Why are you wanting to know this?"

Dean sighed, "You want me to be honest, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll answer your questions. Anything you want to know. But, first, I need to know this stuff, as weird as it sounds. You're got to trust me on this."

Rachel looked at Dean suspiciously. After a couple minutes of silence, she said, "'Two Little Princesses' was a game I'd play with this imaginary friend just before I forgot her. How did that stupid song I'd sing go? 'Two little princesses dancing in a row. Spinning fast and freely on their little toes. Where the light would take them, no one really knows. Two little princesses dancing in a row'." She laughed humorlessly. "I had a lot of imagination, did I?"

Dean sat back and repeated the rhyme to himself.

_Something doesn't feel right about this. Mara isn't just an imaginary friend. I know this._

* * *

Dean rolled over. He thought he heard his door open, but no one was there.

He let his eyes adjust to the dark. He thought he saw someone standing in the shadows.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted something," the figure in the shadows said. "You hit your button."

"I didn't mean to hit it. Sorry." Dean struggled to see who it was. "Rachel? Is that you?"

"I brought you your pills. You need to take them. Take them all."

"Mara?"

Although she didn't move, suddenly a pill bottle appeared on his table.

Dean looked at the pill bottle. "I'm not taking these."

"They'll make you feel better."

"Where's Rachel?"

Even though Dean couldn't really see her, he could tell that Mara was getting angry. "She's at home, asleep! Why is everyone so concerned about the precious princess? She took _everything_ from me, but no one ever showed me any concern. No acknowledgement for my own sacrifice. Nothing! I was forgotten! Overlooked! I should be living her life! Now, take your damn pills, or I'll force them down your throat!"

"No."

Mara stepped forward and grabbed the bottle. "You don't have a choice in this matter."

TBC?

A/N: This is kind of talky, I know. And I apologize. Also, that rhyme "Two Little Princesses" is from the SciFi Channel miniseries "Tin Man."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: One more chapter after this. I've got ideas which story to put up next.

**Dark Mirror**

Sam woke up to his cell phone ringing. He rolled over and grabbed it. "Dean?" he muttered sleepily.

"_Did I wake you, Sammy?" _a woman's low voice slithered smoothly in his ears.

Sam sat up. "Mara?"

"_It's just after midnight. You must be wondering how Dean is. Or maybe not."_

"What did you do with Dean?"

"_Maybe I didn't do anything. Maybe I'm just screwing with your mind. But, there will be another killing tonight. You believe me, don't you? Oh, just a head's up: in a couple minutes, the hospital will call. But, you'll be on your way there. Because you're such a loving, caring brother, right?"_

She hung up.

Sam got out of bed and quickly pulled on jeans.

As he walked out of the room, his phone rang again. He answered it.

"_Detective Hoover?" _a woman's voice screeched in his ears. He suddenly missed the silky voice of Mara.

"Yes? How's Dean?" He asked as he got to the Impala.

"_I'm the emergency room nurse. We just took your partner out of emergency and took him to the ICU. He got into some powerful sedatives. We aren't sure how he got into them, but we're looking into it. Until we know for sure, the doctors are calling it another suicide attempt."_

"I'm on my way." Sam hung up and tossed the phone in the passenger's seat. As he glanced in the rear view mirror, he could almost see Mara's smug smile in his mirror, taunting him for being unable to stop her.

If Dean was still alive, he wondered who the other person was who would take the place.

_She's getting stronger, _Sam thought as he sped up.

* * *

Sam walked into the hospital. He spotted Rachel talking to the ER nurse.

At least, Sam thought she was Rachel. However, by her stance and the expression on her face as she turned towards him, he really couldn't guarantee anything.

He slowly walked up to her, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw her tired blue eyes and smile. Although he was disturbed by her body language. It was so much like Mara's that it made him uneasy.

"Sam?" she quietly asked as he slowly walked up to her. She nodded at the nurse who walked away. "I'm sorry about this."

"How's Dean?"

"Stabilized. The doctors pumped his stomach, got most of pills out. But some had already dissolved and entered his bloodstream. They won't exactly know his condition until he wakes up. And I hope he wakes up. Those sedatives are powerful, and he took enough of them to put down a small horse."

"So, what's going to happen?"

"Well, hopefully in a couple days, he'll be moved back to the psych ward, if he's able to be moved. I put him under 24-hour suicide watch and I'm going to increase his dosage of his antidepressants. And, those are the last things I'll be able to do for him. He'll start meeting with the chief of psychology. I removed myself from your brother's case. I'd like to stop by and say hi to him every now and then, if that's alright with you."

Sam hesitated. "I thought you were in charge of the ward."

"I'm chief resident. I'm not the department head. Dean will meet with him from now on."

"Why'd you remove yourself? Dean likes you. He likes talking to you."

"And I like talking to him. But, I'm not helping him. Plus, if one of my patients attempts to kill themselves on my watch, I have to remove myself." She handed Sam a signed form. "Dean has been moved to the ICU. You can go ahead and see him, if you'd like to. I hope to see you around, Sam."

She gave his arm a comforting pat, but her eyes looked sad. Sam watched her as she walked away.

* * *

Sam sat and watched Dean sleep. It had been over 24 hours since Mara called. Although there were times that Dean shifted and muttered something, particularly whenever a nurse would come in and ask him what day it was. Most of the time, it sounded like "I don't know," but Sam could never be sure.

As far as Sam knew, no one had died by Mara's influence in the last couple days. She was just taunting him, and it pissed him off.

_This bitch is going to die, _Sam thought, going back to his research.

"Sammy?" Dean muttered weakly. Sam looked up to see Dean's glazed eyes looking hazily at him.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, marking the place where he was before moving his chair closer to the bed.

"Three times," Dean mumbled, holding up three fingers. "Bitch."

"Yeah. How are you feeling?" Sam asked again.

Dean shifted in bed, and his eyes cleared a bit, although they were still very glazed and drugged. "M'K." He cleared his throat and said clearer, "I'm OK."

"Good."

"How're you?"

Sam sat back in his chair. "Fine."

Dean struggled to sit up. "Mara's never hurt you?"

"No."

"Why?"

Sam shrugged. "It really doesn't matter, does it? She just needs to be stopped."

"No kidding. Next time she attacks me will probably the last."

Sam couldn't say anything to answer that.

Dean leaned back and closed his eyes again. Sam watched him for a few minutes before being convinced that he was asleep again. However, as he gathered his research, Dean muttered sleepily, "How's Rachel?"

Sam frowned. "I think she's fine. She's no longer your doctor, though."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn't think she's helping you. And since you tried to kill yourself, you're going to talk to Dr. Anderson, the head of the psych department. He seems nice."

Dean opened his eyes again. "I don't want to talk to him. I need to talk to Rachel."

"She's not helping you…"

"I know that. But, when I talk to her, she provides clues. She is a clue."

"There's not much I can do, though."

"Keep track of Rachel."

_She's not important. None of this is important._ Sam thought, but feeling Dean's clearer eyes on him kept him silent.

* * *

The hospital said Rachel was taking a few days off, spending them with her twins. However, Sam felt like a stalker as he watched a car pull up into the driveway of Rachel's house. He felt awkward, just sitting in the car across the street.

Rachel stepped out of the house and stood on the porch while a man stepped out of the car. Judging from Rachel's body language, she wasn't too happy to see this guy.

Sam couldn't hear the words they were saying. However, from the man's tone, he was confused. Rachel sounded angry.

As the man opened the backseat door, Rachel stood on the porch and rubbed her temples. She glanced over towards Sam's direction and momentarily stiffened. As Sam wondered if she had seen him when she looked to the car again.

He could hear her cheerily greet her cute twins as they tumbled out of the car, one after the other, and ran to her. She hugged them, took them by the hands, and led them up the porch stairs.

She glanced back towards Sam's direction before opening the door. The three of them disappeared inside the house.

Sam clutched the steering wheel. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Everything seemed fine.

_Now, on to Mara._ There was one place he hadn't checked out.

He headed to the cemetery.

* * *

Sam headed back to the hospital and walked into Dean's psych ward room, only to stop by the presence of a woman almost as big as he was. She was staring at Dean with a strange mixture of fascination and contempt. Her expression only increased with contempt as she looked over at Sam.

Dean was sitting on his bed, playing with a paper fortune teller. "Hey, Sammy. You haven't met today's watch nurse, have you? I call her Ratchet."

At her nickname, the woman's frown deepened.

"You just missed the doc," Dean continued. "He thinks I'm doing fine. At least, I'm doing well with arts and crafts, wouldn't you say so?"

"Can I talk to Dean alone?" Sam asked the woman.

She responded by glaring at Sam.

"Pick a color," Dean said to the woman. At her stare, he responded, "OK. So, I'll pick a color for you. Since you're so cheery, I'll say 'cherry.' So, red, right?" He moved the fortune teller around as he spelled out "R-E-D." Under her steely gaze, he opened the flap. "You are a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day," he read. He looked up at her. "Or, maybe not."

Sam quickly stepped forward, just in case the nurse wanted to kill Dean, "Please let me talk to Dean alone."

"Well, I need a break from your partner. I doubt whether he'll try anything to do anything with you around. And I just need a break from him." With that, the nurse stomped out of the room.

"This isn't going to help me!" Dean called out to her as the door closed.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked as he sat down.

"I need out of here. I'm never alone. OK, maybe in the bathroom, but even then, someone is just outside. But, Doc Anderson says I'm doing well enough that I can get out of here with supervision. I'm counting on you to get me out of here. Away from the walking land mass." Dean played some more with his paper fortune teller. "How's Rachel?"

"As far as I know, she's OK."

Dean unfolded the fortune teller. "Well, I did some more checking on Rachel, and I think I figured out a connection. See, Rachel was born premature. There were a lot of complications after she was born and in early childhood. Appendicitis. Childhood asthma."

"That's good work, Dean. How'd you get that?"

Dean glanced up at Sam. "You have your ways of getting information. I have my ways. So, I'm thinking that, although I can't find a record of Mara, I think she and Rachel are twins. Mara probably died in the womb. There is record of a stillborn baby born the same day, on August 20, 1978, but the records are kind of scattered. I think Rachel don't know that she was a twin. I just don't have proof. But, I think it's good enough to work out the dead twin exorcism."

"I've got proof." Sam pulled out his cell phone and accessed the pictures. He handed the phone to Dean. "Pictures of Mara's tombstone. Look at the date of birth and death. Just one: August 20, 1978. Last name, Liebowitz."

Dean tapped the phone, looking at the picture. "We need to now get a hold of Mara. And hope she's not completely possessing Rachel." He dialed the phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"Obviously Rachel."

"She might not answer. She's got her kids with her this weekend."

Dean was about ready to hang up when the phone picked up. _"Sammy?" _Mara's low voice came over. _"This is different. It's usually me contacting you."_

"Mara?" Dean asked. Sam straightened up in his chair.

"_Dean! You're alive?" _Her voice slid to a growl. _"You're still alive? If you're looking for Rachel, she isn't here right now. Looks like you're too late. You failed. Again."_

The phone clicked off.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks, guys. I'll be posting, probably a one-shot tomorrow.

**Dark Mirror**

Sam shuffled around to let the mountainous, glaring nurse out of Dean's room while he tried to get inside. He tossed Dean the clothes, and Dean quickly changed out of his patient scrubs. "I drove by Rachel's house. From what I can see, nothing looks out of the ordinary. I could hear her boys laughing in her backyard."

"That's what she wants us to think," Dean said as he tossed the scrubs on the floor.

"You think you're just gonna walk out of here? What about that nurse?"

"She went out for a smoke break. She's been jonesing for a cigarette for a while. I've spent the last couple days memorizing the doctors' and nurses' rounds. We have about 5 minutes to get from here to the exit. No one will stop us." He shrugged. "If this hadn't happened, I would have made my escape either today or tomorrow. Just had to somehow ditch the cheerleader land mass who's been my warden."

Sam shook his head but followed Dean out of the door.

Sure enough, they had no problem getting out of the hospital. Both Dean and Sam walked around to the driver's side. "I know the way," Sam said.

Dean sighed and walked around to the passenger's side. "I haven't driven in over a month, though," he muttered. But, he had to admit to himself that he didn't know where he was going. Sam could get them to Rachel's a lot faster. "Know the exorcism?" He asked.

"I have it." Sam backed out of the space and sped out of the parking lot. "You know if Mara has taken over Rachel…"

"I know."

"Rachel's probably…"

"I know!" Dean interrupted. "Let's worry about that once we extract Mara."

They rode in silence. Dean reached behind and grabbed his salt shotgun as they turned onto a residential street. As he turned back, he caught a glimpse of a little boy tossing a ball against the side of a house. As he settled back in his seat and checked the gun, Sam said, "That's Rachel's house. Must be one of her sons."

Dean looked up in time to see the ball bounce in the street and the little boy run after it. "Sam! Stop!" He yelled as Sam slammed on the brakes.

Dean scrambled out of the car and ran around to the front as the little boy stood, looking at the car, which sat inches from him. He grinned and waved up at Dean.

"Hi!" he said.

Dean kneeled down next to the little boy and quickly checked him for injuries. There didn't seem to be any. "Hi," he said as Sam came around the car. "Did we hit you? Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head.

"Are you Caleb or Joshua?" Dean looked down to see the boy's blue eyes. He had the same color and same shape as his mother's.

"Caleb."

"Caleb, I'm Dean. I'm a friend of your mom's. I don't think she'd like you to run in the street. You could get hurt."

"Mommy's acting funny."

Dean glanced up at Sam. "How so?"

Caleb shrugged.

"Caleb!" Dean turned around to see Rachel run out of the house and down to the car. At least, he thought she was Rachel. She acted like her, but Dean couldn't be sure. She reached the boy and knelt down beside him. "Are you OK?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Are you sure? Nothing hurts?"

Caleb shook his head.

She grabbed him and stood up. "Don't ever do that again, OK? You scared me to death!" She glanced up at Sam and Dean but kept her eyes averted in order to look at her son. "What are you guys doing here? What are you doing out of the hospital, Dean?"

Dean tried to see Rachel's eyes, but she kept them on Caleb. "I just wanted to talk."

"Can we talk later? You guys nearly hit my son! I know it's an accident, and I don't blame you guys, but please, just… can we talk later?"

"OK," Dean said slowly as he tried to look at her eyes again.

As she stood up, Dean caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were brown.

"Come on, baby. Let's go in and play with Josh," she said as Caleb wrapped his arms tighter around her neck and buried his head in her shoulder. She hurried back to the house.

"Rachel is still around? That's good. We might be able to save her," Sam said.

"That wasn't Rachel. That was Mara."

Sam looked over at the house, shocked. "Why do you think that?"

"Her eyes were brown."

"Well, maybe Rachel has rubbed off on Mara. That's very good! We can get Mara out and set Rachel free."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know," he muttered as he went around to the passenger's side to get his shotgun.

"What don't you know? She acted like Rachel. She was worried about her son. Wasn't she?"

"I don't doubt she was worried about her son. Because he's now _her _son. She took over Rachel's life."

Sam stiffened. "I thought she was getting more powerful. So she succeeded to completely possess Rachel? Dean, she might be trying to convince herself that she won't murder anyone anymore, but she will. Dybbuks stay hungry for souls, unless they get the perfect one."

Dean rechecked the shotgun. "She wants me."

"Yeah."

"Why not you? Why am I so special?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Then you'd better recite that exorcism fast." With that, Dean marched up to the house.

Sam had no choice but to follow, although he wasn't sure what he was feeling. He just knew this was going to go badly, but he wasn't sure if he felt bad about that.

He felt for the translated exorcism. _Better be ready._

Dean squatted in front of the door and listened to what was going on inside as Sam quietly joined him. Dean signed for him to go around to the back door to get in. As he left, Dean quietly picked the lock and gently eased the door open.

He could hear Mara and the kids laughing in another room.

He held the shotgun loosely, hoping not to scare the boys.

A shadow caught his eye. He glanced over to see Sam coming through the kitchen, his gun at ready.

In a back room, they could hear Mara and the children laughing.

Dean nodded toward the closed room. "Be careful. Don't let her put any mind whammy on you, alright?"

Sam nodded angrily.

Just then, Mara burst out of the room. "So, it's time, huh?" She turned back to the boys, "Boys, go up to your room and play. Stay up there, no matter what you hear, alright."

Both boys nodded, then ran past Sam and Dean.

"I would never hurt my sons, if that's what you're so concerned about," her brown eyes blazed angrily.

Dean raised his shotgun. "Sam, start the exorcism."

"You don't think I deserve to live?" Mara's voice took a pleading tone.

Sam unfolded his translation.

"Put that paper down," Mara spat out.

Sam glanced at Dean, who motioned for him to continue.

"I said, put it down!" Mara raised her hand, and the paper ripped out of Sam's hands into Mara's a split second before he crashed against the wall. As Dean tried to shoot, his shotgun was pulled out of his hands a moment before he crashed into the opposite wall.

He couldn't move.

"I hope you have that exorcism memorized, Sammy," Mara said as she unloaded the shotgun, allowing the salt bullets to fall to the floor before she ripped up the translation. "Of course, I'm sure you do, with that big brain of yours and all."

Dean could see the wheels turning in Sam's head. _He doesn't have it memorized, _Dean thought morosely.

"I thought dybbuks weren't demons, yet you've got demon powers," he said, hoping he could stall enough for Sam to get the wheels in his head to click on the right exorcism.

Mara shrugged. "I'm not a demon. I've met demons. Don't care much for them. But, it's amazing what you can do with your mind when that's all you've had for thirty years."

"I bet."

She grinned and turned to Sam. "Don't know the exorcism? Too bad. You know, both of you are right where I want you. It's really too bad it has to end like this for you. But, Dean, I need your soul."

"Why mine?"

"It's bright and shiny, no matter what you think of it. You know, you don't appreciate being alive the way you should. I get your soul, I'm able to live. You'll be my last 'victim'. Just think—I'll probably be able to live without resorting to killing. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not all that crazy about driving people to kill others or themselves."

"Mara, I think you're smart enough to know we can't let you do that." _C'mon, Sammy._

"Why not? You save others. Why can't I be saved? I've never hurt anyone! Never! And you know what it's like to be ignored by your family, don't you? To have your family move on without you? Rachel and I played together when we were little, but when she started school, I was left behind. She then went on to have friends, degrees, a family. Me? What about me? My parents buried me then went on with their lives. I never got a say in the matter. What gives Rachel the right to live and not me?"

"She hasn't killed anyone."

"I haven't either."

"You drive people to do it."

She sighed. "I can't do anything if they haven't already thought about it before. I can't force anyone to kill others unless they didn't already dream of killing. Sammy obviously would love to kill you. Maybe because you're standing in his way. Maybe because he's tired of having you for a partner. His reasons are all his own. And I can't force people to kill themselves if they weren't suicidal to begin with. Sammy, Dean obviously wants to die. And me? Well, I'm just here to help them achieve their goals. And if I get to take their souls, that's reward enough for me. Also, how do you know Rachel hasn't killed anyone? How do you know she didn't kill me?"

Sam muttered a couple of words in Hebrew, and Mara angrily turned to him. "Don't you dare!" She walked up to him, frowning at him towering over her. She put up her hand, then brought it down to her side, lowering him almost to the floor so she could stand over him. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have a brother who would live and die for you, go to Hell for you. And you throw all of that away by running off with a demonic whore? You unappreciative bastard. You think I'm soulless? When I look at you, it's like I'm looking in a mirror. In a couple years, that dark, warped soul of yours will be gone. Dean's will still burn bright. It lasted throughout Hell, in spite of everything. Just a little scarred. Yours didn't last for four months by yourself. That's why I want his."

Sam glared up at her while she stepped back. Dean could practically see smoke coming out of his ears as Sam barely mouthed words.

Mara picked up the boys' board game and walked to the closet. She put it on the floor. "Keep trying to remember that exorcism, Sammy. It's not going to help." She dragged a chair over to stand on in order to grab something off the top shelf. "I really need to put this somewhere else. Right now, my boys are too little to reach this, even if they stood on each other and on a chair. But, soon they'll be able to get into this. I'm thinking of Rachel's old bedroom. What do you think?"

"Your boys?" Dean asked as she climbed off the chair.

"Yeah. See, at first, I didn't want kids. I resented that Rachel's—I mean, _my_—ex-husband dumped them on me this weekend. Now? I love my kids. Although Caleb's blue eyes remind me of Rachel's, which sucks."

"Where's Rachel?"

She paused as she opened the box. "Not here. See, no one knows about this, but my dear sister apparently had a blood clot in her brain. Bummer, huh? That's probably what was causing her headaches and her blackouts, don't you think? Anyway, it got her Thursday night. She had a seizure and hit her head while she was in the tub. Drowned. OK, I caused that, but that's what an autopsy is going to find. So, even if you succeed in exorcising me, you'll leave two little boys without a mother. You know what that's like." She pulled out a .22 and checked it. "This is actually Travis' gun. He left it here. Rachel never liked it, but I kinda like having it around. Keeps me safe from guys like you."

She walked over and put it in Sam's hand. Sam pointed the gun at her. "Yeah, I don't think you want to do that," she said. "Plus, it's unloaded."

She walked away from Sam, up to Dean, holding a couple of bullets in her hand. "For the record, I'm sorry about this, Dean. You're a good guy, no matter what either you or Sammy thinks. But, I want to live. I want to see my children grow up. I want to become Rachel, not just inhabit her body. You're the only thing standing in my way."

"Mara, we can talk about this."

"Talking's not going to help, is it? You want to end it all. The pressure, the heartache, the dependency." She put her hand with the bullets on his chest, and Dean started feeling white-hot pain. She removed her hand, and he looked down to blood start trickling down his chest. "Of course, I do have a right to shoot both of you. You broke into my house. But that bullet is going to work its way into you. Slowly. Sam's going to watch you die another excruciating death. And since his prints are all over the gun… Unless, he can come up with the right exorcism. But, I don't think he can even think, can you, Sammy?"

Sam started rapidly speaking Hebrew words out loud, to be interrupted by Mara snapping, "Wrong!"

The bullet moved deeper into Dean's chest, causing more blood and more pain. As he groaned in pain, Sam tried another one.

"Wrong!" Mara said, then laughed. "You don't like to be wrong, do you? Anyway, how do you know I'm not just messing with your minds here? This isn't really happening, you know. Doesn't matter. Dean will be dead soon. I'll get his bright, shiny soul!"

Sam stretched out his hand. Before he could do anything, Mara sneered, "It won't work, Sammy. I'm not a demon."

As she turned away from Dean to face Sam, Dean discovered could now move away from the wall, although every breath he took hurt. The wound wasn't bad yet, but he knew he had to do something. Sam was stuck.

As Mara stalked toward Sam, sitting on the floor, still muttering Hebrew words, Dean staggered to the torn pieces of paper. He felt the bullet dig deeper in him. As he quickly reassembled the pieces, he could see drops of blood drip on them.

"I pray to the Lord to forgive my sins and to rid this dark twin," he read out loud and groaned in pain as Mara turned around angrily. The bullet started to move into him faster.

"No." Mara whispered.

Sam struggled to stand up as he glared at her. He started reciting the words in Hebrew, picking up speed as he pushed past the first few words.

Dean collapsed on the ground, feeling dizzy. But, the bullet was no longer moving into him.

Mara screamed as Sam continued with the exorcism. Dean told himself to breathe through the pain and the blood.

As Sam got to the end of the exorcism, Mara started to shake violently. She screamed again as she fell to the ground. She arched up, her screams becoming choking gasps.

Suddenly, her body fell to the floor hard and lay still.

Dean groaned as he sat up and checked his wound. In spite of the pain, it didn't look bad.

"Dean?" Sam asked as stepped over the woman and knelt beside Dean.

"I'm OK. Check on her," Dean said.

"You need that bullet to come out. I'll be right back." Sam got up and left the room.

Dean scooted over to the woman and checked for her pulse. There was nothing. He gently pushed one of her eyes open. Although it was dilated, he could see Rachel's blue ringed around the black.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel. If I'd have known sooner…"

Sam came back into the room, carrying a towel. "We need to go, Dean. You need to get that bullet out of you."

"No hospitals. It's not that bad. It's just a flesh wound."

"I'll do it at the motel room. But, we need to go."

Dean took the towel and pressed it against his wound. "We can't leave Rachel's body for her kids to find. That's too cruel. I'll be alright, but you need to take her to the hospital. I'll be here until you get back or someone comes for her kids."

"We can't worry about that."

Dean looked up at Sam. "Just do what I ask one time without fighting me, alright?"

Sam stepped back, but he nodded. He walked over and picked up Rachel's body. He left the room without another word.

* * *

"So, Travis came for the boys," Sam told Dean in the motel room after he took out the bullet and stitched up the wound. Dean was right. It wasn't very bad.

"Poor kids," Dean muttered as he took another swig of the Jack Daniels he got before all of this started.

"The cause of death was drowning. But, the autopsy said it had happened just a couple hours before I 'found' her."

Dean played with the bottle, watching the liquid swirl it. "Mara kept the body alive."

"We had to do what needed to be done."

"I guess."

Sam sighed. "You know what Mara said wasn't true, right?"

"About?"

"Wanting you to die. I don't want you to die. But, you were right. I have thought about your death in the heat of an argument."

Dean leaned back against his bed. "I know, Sammy."

Sam stood up as Dean picked up the remote and started flipping through the TV channels.

He couldn't read the expression in Dean's eyes.

Fin

A/N: I made up the little incantation. I don't know Hebrew. I'm not Jewish. I have nothing but respect, though.

For those of you who have been consistently reviewing, thank you. And those who have provided me with encouragement, thank you. Words don't begin to state how much I appreciate your reviews. I'll continue writing one-shots, and as soon as I get inspiration for a one-shot, I'll write and post. Right now, I don't have one-shot inspiration. But, unless an easy, short plot bunny falls in my lap, I'm not shopping for one.


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